Changing Tenses
by Mistiec
Summary: While one cannot let go of the past, another cannot face it. (Rogue/Logan)


Changing Tenses **TITLE: Changing Tenses**   
**AUTHOR: Melissa Flores**   
**EMAIL: mistiec_flores@yahoo.com**   
RATING: PG-13   
PAIRING: Rogue/Logan   
SUMMARY: While one can't let go of the past, another cannot face it.   
DISTRIBUTION:   
http://www.wolverineandrogue.com/mistiec 

NOTES:   
For Donna and Nancy, and Jenn, who all helped me out by reading the first half of this. For Donna especially, cause she handed me the lyrics. 

~*~ 

She had commented on his acting strange the third year. 

Time had never really mattered to him. It was perhaps because of the sheer horror of it. Time was never on his side. Time no longer mattered to him because of his mutation, because of his invulnerability to it. 

Time seemed to fly, and yet it seemed to stand still. 

He hadn't been aware that time even existed, not the true relevance of it, until he had met up with her, with them. 

Because he had started thinking that way. In terms of time. 

It had been four weeks, since he'd left. 

It had been a year since he'd left. 

She would have been seventeen. 

It would have been a year since the doctor and the leader married. 

And two and a half years later, when time dragged so slowly for him, he never realized how fast it had moved for everyone else. 

Because when he came back, everything had changed. 

And he had stayed the same. 

Nothing had changed in his heart, in his head. 

But the doctor was married. 

The leader no longer wore the glasses. He wore clear, red tinted lenses that showed so much more on the face of a man, no longer the boy Logan had assumed he was. 

The weather goddess had matured into a true leader, with a red headed cajun by her side that wasn't there before, and she smiled more and spoke even less. 

And the child was another person entirely. 

Because the child could touch. 

It had happened a while ago, though no one had informed him, thought he supposed that was his fault. 

If he had kept in touch, maybe she wouldn't have morphed into such a different person. Maybe he could have kept the girl he knew from becoming the woman who plagued him now. 

No longer was Marie Marie. Her hair was longer, the streaks were even whiter, the lips fuller, the body curvier, and the eyes... 

The eyes were no longer hers. 

But she laughed. She laughed and she smiled and she was the reigning queen. 

She was no longer his secret. 

Time had become his enemy. 

Marie had become exposed as Rogue. 

And he was no longer her savior. He was just another teammate, another friend who she smiled and patted and drawled to, and then almost completely ignored when another came to capture her attention. 

It was because of time. 

Wolverine believed in chaos. He believed in letting things run it's course. But he never believed in fate. 

It was not fate that kept him from leaving again. 

In his deepest chasm of his heart, he admitted, it was to keep time from speeding up. 

He didn't leave not because he didn't want to. 

He didn't leave because he was scared to. 

And so he remained. He became part of the team. He made friends with the quiet, stoic Ororo, with the patient, loving Jean, with the sarcastic Cajun, and even with the red lensed leader. And despite the anger at the stranger who had taken over the sweetness and pureness of the child he had left behind, with the spitfire, the stranger, Rogue. 

He was quiet, and sullen. 

In other words, he was perfectly normal. 

Or so he thought. 

But she commented on his acting strange the third year. 

And it was that comment that changed everything. 

~*~ 

"I'm bored. Aren't you bored?" 

Logan looked up to the younger face seated across from him, her palm resting on her chin lightly, her frown tugging on the corner of her lips as she looked distantly out the window, ignoring the chess pieces that had been carefully set between them. 

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms and leaning back, studying the pieces with an air of a scholar, something he was more assuredly not. "Your idea to play, Marie, not mine." His eyes flickered up for have a second as her frown deepened slightly, and he shook his head, looking away. She didn't like that. She was Rogue now, with the shock white hair and the red lips and tight clothes and witty, sarcastic air. Time had withered Marie away. 

Only he still called her that, and she didn't like it. 

But she said nothing about that. Instead she only sighed, moving out of her chair and to the windowsill. 

"I'm gettin' stir crazy in here," was her wistful comment. 

This time he allowed his eyes to rest on the figure paused forlornly at the window, gazing at the white flecks of the blizzard as they whipped about outside. His heart gave a curious thump, and Logan just grunted, feeling the annoyance in his voice, rather than hearing, as he called out, "You gonna play or what?" 

Rogue turned, looked at the black and white chess pieces, then at Logan, and suddenly smiled, a secret smile, as if she knew something he didn't. 

The pause made him suspicious, and although he thought he may regret, he still found himself asking, "What?" 

"Logan, you make a pretty picture, sittin' there. When I first met you you wouldn't be caught dead playin' with those things. How time does change things, hmm?" 

The mention of the t-word made something inside of him lurch, and his head jerked sideways, and his eyes caught hers, and the stare that met him burned. 

She had old eyes. Eyes that should have never been on a twenty three year old's face, even if he wasn't quite sure what kind of eyes should have been in place instead. 

What those eyes did to him, he wasn't sure. But it burned. It burned and it was hell. And it happened everytime he looked at her. 

So his eyes closed, locking in the sensation, feeling the shudder flow through him, and he turned away, his voice hoarse and tired and angry as he got up. 

"You're not going to play, then there's no point in being here." 

"Logan!" 

Her bare hand enclosed around his so quickly the metal blades in his knuckles jerked in his surprise, and when she turned him, forced him to look at her, he didn't. He kept his gaze on her bare hands, on the hands that were soft, with the painted fingernails. 

"Christ I was just makin' conversation! Tryin' to reminisce or something!" Her voice was worried, harried, almost emotional, if such a thing ever hit Rogue. Her eyes were moistened, and when he shrugged, her grip tightened. "Don't you dare. What the hell is going on with you, Logan? You've been acting stranger and stranger since you got here!" 

And his head jerked up and his eyes met hers and for once they were naked, without reservation or gruffness. Time had stood still for him up until that moment. The three years that he had stayed, time had stood still at Mutant High. But the eyes, Rogue's eyes, which had changed so much since she had absorbed him, then Magneto, then a person of immense strength and a psycho bitch with the power to fly, were markers. 

As long as there was a spark of Marie there, he would be okay. As long as time gave him that much. But in that look, in her eyes, time had stopped standing still. 

Marie had understood him. 

Rogue barely knew him. 

And his eyes burned into hers, and suddenly she knew. He didn't know what she knew, but he guessed she knew something, because suddenly her hand let go and she stepped back, and for the first time since he had returned, she gave him the same look he had been giving her since he had gotten here. 

She was looking at him like she was seeing a stranger. 

He didn't speak, he simply walked away, back straight and tall, and eyes red, so very red. 

He hated time. 

Because he knew tomorrow. It would all be different. 

~*~ 

Her life began the moment he had picked her up in that truck. The moment he had smiled at her and said his name, the moment he had questioned her as Rogue and she had questioned him as Wolverine. 

Her life had been for others up until the moment she had gained the power to touch. In that moment, it was as if she had been reborn again. The knot that had always been in her stomach had been lifted, and the lump in the back of her throat that seemed ever present was gone and she had never felt more free. 

Time had changed her, and she had embraced it, forgetting the past in an attempt to forget the nights she had lain sobbing into her pillow, in an attempt to forget the nights strapped at the table battling for her mind, in an attempt to forget the sheen of humiliation she would feel everytime she would remember the way her hands would wrap around the tags with the dreamy look of hope on her face. 

With her ability to touch contained, she was suddenly treated as a person. A beautiful human being who smiled and laughed, no longer the tragic figure, the poster child for mutant idiots anonymous. 

She could walk down the street and hold hands. She could laugh and throw pillows, she could change in the damned high school locker room. 

She had managed to push back the pain, managed to forget what that scared, timid girl felt like until the moment the one person who could look at her, and see inside her and bring it all back came into her life a second time. 

Time had taken her so far, and one look at the man who had only known her two days, at the man who had lived inside of her head, and for a time, in her heart, and every emotion returned. 

She had hidden in her room for a full two hours before she could go out and face him without shivering, bolting. 

For he was a man who searched for stability. He was unchanging. 

He was a nightmare. 

He called her Marie, and he called her kid. And he didn't touch her even though he knew he could, and he barely looked at her, and he treated her like Marie. 

And never once did he realize how everytime he said that word, everytime he looked at her in the way that made her mistify and wonder why he held so much anger, he brought back the pain, the insecurity. 

He brought back Marie. 

For three years she had tried. She had remembered the man who had promised to take care of her, and she had tried so hard to forget. She had gotten used to Logan again, to ignoring the looks and the gruffness, and his refusal to look her in the eyes, thankful because she didn't want to see his eyes either, because of what she was afraid to find. 

Today, she had found it. 

He was furious at her. He hated her. 

Because she wasn't Marie. 

So she sat, her long, slender legs crossed gracefully, eyes suddenly riveted on the mirror in front of her. The perfectly plucked eyebrows, the long oval face, the cherry red lips. The details were the same. 

But the person wasn't. And she was shaking so hard with anger, with furious anger because he hated her, and she hated him for hating her, because she hated her past, and he refused to leave it behind. 

What had she lost? What had he taken with him when he left? What was it that made her feel so empty when she looked at him. What was it that made her a failure and what made him right when she knew he was wrong? 

Her face burned, and her eyes glistened, and the hot tear slipped down her face before she could stop it, and the sight of the tear sliding down her cheek in the mirror broke her defenses and they continued to pour as she cried in frustration. 

Because Rogue didn't cry. 

But Marie had. 

The door opened, and she wiped the tears away hastily as the younger children entered, never noticing her as they popped in the movie, and sat on the couch. 

When they finally noticed her, her face was clear, and her eyes were bright, and she smiled a charming smile that made the boys blush and the girls smiled. 

And when she stood and walked toward the door, the girls followed her and the boys stared, and she smiled and talked, and when she closed the door, she heard the conversation that followed about how cool she was and how beautiful and how strong. 

Because that was who Rogue was. 

But the smile that turned into a falter, the trembling that seized her as soon as the door shut, wasn't a part of that, and in her anger, her lapse of judgment seized her, and she whirled, directly to the man who had caused the pain, the tears, the torment. 

Two woman, one barely above a child, couldn't live in a single body. There were too many people floating in her mind as it was. 

And she walked to his room, arms bare despite the urge for the gloves that had sustained Marie. 

Rogue didn't need them. And if it was something Logan needed to know, it was that Rogue had a hell of a temper. 

~*~ 

She hadn't knocked. 

He had been pounding at a bag, on the verge of tearing it to shreds, when suddenly a streak of black and white had slid into the place, grabbed him, and damn near dragged him out of the room. 

He hadn't known to protest. He hadn't known what to do at all, because the look of fury on her face made him regard this girl as a stranger. 

And she knew it. 

When they bounded down the stairs of the university, she had dropped his hand, sliding onto one of the two motorcycles that were waiting, and ordering in a clipped tone as she pulled on the short leather gloves and the black motorcycle jacket, "Get on." 

He had glared at her, but when her head snapped up, the bangs flipping off her forehead and their eyes locked, the words of protest had died in his throat. 

"Get your ass on the bike, Logan," she had hissed, and her young, lithe body jerked as she kicked at the starter, her eyes never leaving his, the burning inside of them making him realize exactly what this was. 

It was a challenge. 

The stare continued, and the fear he had carried everytime he had looked into her eyes was replaced with a fury, an anger, and without another word he moved, sliding onto the bike next to her, slipping on the jacket she threw on his knees. 

"Want to tell me what this is all about?" he muttered, turning to regard her once more. 

And once more, their eyes locked, and once more, he felt that thump, he felt the fear, but the fury was still the same, as the stranger with Marie's face smirked slightly, and answered with the same angered tone that left no room for argument, "We're going soul searching, Logan." 

Her bike shifted, and in a flash she was gone. 

His nostrils flared, and with a grunt, he followed the scent. 

He knew her scent. 

It was Marie's scent. 

~*~ 

They didn't speak for hours. Side by side, the two strangers who had melded heads and minds and held each other and made promises rode in silence side by side, never speaking, never saying a word. 

He didn't recognize where they were going, but he should have. He smelled it as soon as they crossed the border, as soon as they passed the spot where he had crashed and she had smiled at him for the very first time. 

He didn't realize exactly where they were until she pulled into an abandoned metal tin warehouse on the outskirts of Laughlin City. 

"What the hell-" 

He never got the chance to question her, because she merely pulled off the helmet, turned off the bike and strode toward the doors, never saying a word to him. 

He could do nothing but follow her, the anger, the suspicion evident in his movements, in his scowls, in the way his hands were at his sides, the way he knew she knew the blades would come out at the slightest hint of trouble. 

When he entered, she was leaning back in the cage, the empty warehouse surrounding them like a tomb. 

"You remember, Logan?" 

He swallowed, fists burying into the pockets of his jeans, looking up at her, the stranger that wore Marie's face so well, glaring at her as she glared back at him. 

"It's where it all started, isn't it?" Her voice rung through the place with an echo, cementing the dreariness of the place. "This is our past." 

"It's my past," he growled, turning his back to her, sitting at the bar, pulling a cigar out and positioning it on his mouth. 

She let an eyebrow rise, and slowly smirked, shaking her head. "I was here too, wasn't I? Right there," she slid out of the cage, sauntering with a beautiful, sexy gait, sliding onto the stool in a way that Marie never would have done. "This exact same bench. And you were right there. In that exact same seat. Ah was scared, hungry, tired, and completely fascinated with the man they called the Wolverine." Her voice had sugar coated into a deliberate drawl, and Logan winced, remembering the drawl that had been lost to Rogue so long ago. Her head was cocked, and her face seemed almost playful, if her eyes weren't so fluid, so dangerous. "How must I have looked, Logan? Tell me. Alone. Scared. Almost swallowed up by that green trenchcoat, lookin' at you like you were the damned savior himself-" 

"Shut up," he growled, eyes half lidded, dangerous. 

"And you looked at me, right into my eyes, and you could smell how scared Ah was, couldn't ya?" 

"I said Shut up, Rogue," he answered, hands digging into the bench, his heart beating tremendously as the woman with the so very familiar accent retold him his past, his cherished past, where his life had begun, where his past had begun, really begun. 

"It's our past, Logan, you're livin' in it, why the hell can't I talk about it?" He swallowed, looked up, glaring at her, eyes boring into hers. But she only shook her head, biting her lip, eyes glittering dangerously as she crossed her legs, picked up a cigarette from her pocket, and lit it deftly. "Wanta smoke, sugar? Cheers ta our past!" 

His breath came out in short, shallow puffs as she continued, her voice suddenly clipped, dark. 

"Heads up, Logan. Our past is dead." 

"SHUT UP!" In a second he was up, the claws slid out of their own violation, swinging toward her. The woman known as Rogue never even flinched, catched the arm, swinging one of her own. 

The pain jolted up his jaw, knocked him off his feet as the strength of the blow landed him against the cage. 

"It's dead! Logan! Can't you just accept that and move on! Stop doing this ! Stop hurting me!" She cried, and her voice was so different, broken, sad. His head was ringing as her voice continued to shout above him, and in pure reaction, his leg swung out and she fell, landing with a thump on his chest. 

They were silent, her body heaving on top of his, until she moved, sliding down as he slid up, the pair suddenly sitting side by side. 

"What do you want, Rogue," he rasped, raking his hands through his hair, eyes blood shot and red. "What do you want from me." 

Her breath was ragged, her forearm brushing his as she pulled off her gloves, the fight out of her as she sat beside him, back against the cage where he had once shed blood, where he had once smelled Marie. 

'I wanna know. I want to know what it was about her that makes you hate me. Or what it is about me that makes me so terrible. I want to know why you hate me." 

He was silent for a long time, feeling her gaze on him, the pleading gaze that reminded him so much of his past, so much of Marie, in this place with the ghosts, in the place where his life began and his past was so vivid. 

"I don't hate you," he finally answered, his voice gruff, hands suddenly buried in his head as he swallowed, keeping his gaze away from her. "I just... miss her." 

Silence followed, and he swallowed when a bare hand slid into his own squeezing tightly. He squeezed, closing his eyes, sliding his arms around the warm body as it clung to him, the young woman smelling so much like his little Marie, like the past he had come to live for. 

But the scent that mingled with Marie was the intoxicating scent of a woman. The body that his hands slid around had curves that set his heart racing, aroused him, changed him. 

He pushed her away roughly, getting up, moving away from her. Hands dug into the cage and he groaned. 

A hand landed on his trembling shoulder, and he shuddered, swallowing hard as she turned him, tilting his chin up so their eyes could meet. And when he saw her, he saw a beautiful woman, concerned, scared, so very unsure, and sad. 

"You can't live like this, Logan," she whispered. "I'm sorry if I'm not who you thought I was. Ah'm sorry if I'm not who you remembered. But ya can't ... ya can't keep thinkin' that if you treat me a certain way I'm gonna suddenly become who Ah was before. You can't live in the past. You go empty. Everybody changes. You have to accept the future." 

"Oh yeah?" his voice was gruff as his eyes bore into her in challenge. "Then accept the damn past. Because without your past you're nothing Marie. Believe me. I know." 

Her face was still for a moment, hardened a second later, and she swallowed hard. He could smell the anger, the fear... the need. 

"You know I figured out what was missing," she whispered. "I figured out why it hurt so much. Why I was so scared. Why I never wanted to face my past. Why I never possibly can do it alone." 

"What?" 

"You." 

And Rogue's voice was so soft, sultry, so deep and dark and it went right through him, touching him in his very core. And he shuddered, shaking his head, pulling back. 

"Marie... Marie, dammit, don't-" 

"I know why I'm scared of my past, Logan. Cause I hurt. Cause I was a living hell every day of my life after you left cause I was so damn alone. Cause with you I felt strong but without you I was alone. I changed to survive. I changed because there was no way I could go on without you takin' care of me like you said and still survive. How the hell did you expect me to stay the same? How the hell did you expect me to stay sane?" 

His chest was heaving at her whispered words, and his eyes stung as the little girl spoke to him with the eyes and voice and body of a woman. 

"I know why I'm scared Logan. But why are you scared? Why do you hate me now that I'm changed. What are you scared of?" she whispered, pleading, gently, her body still, her face inches from him. 

The heat that radiated from her made his head pound, and he found himself groaning, leaning back, hitting the cage, blocking him from further escape. His eyes closed, and he heard a whimper of rage as her strong hands grabbed onto him again, shaking him. 

"Don't you dare, damn you! Don't you damn coward! You coward!" His eyes shot open and his chest was heaving as the tears were streaming down her face, eyes wide, scared, naked, and furious. 

"I'm scared," he finally managed, his voice barely above a growl. "I'm scared of... I'm scared of you." And his hands and arms betrayed him, sliding up her body, eyes burning gazes onto her, as the palms slid across her cheek, hearing her ragged sigh as her lips parted, her heart suddenly beating so fast, so fast and her scent so intoxicating. 

"I can't... I can't want Marie," he continued ragged. "She's a kid." 

"She's Rogue," Rogue answered, her eyes suddenly blinking open, and Logan was still, her eyes boring into his, and never had he been so frightened and so scared, and so angry and so full of damn joy. 

Because he was staring at little Marie. And he was staring at Rogue. 

He swallowed, tongue so thick he could barely speak, eyes so wide, boring into the woman that had once been a child. Once been his past. "Rogue... Marie... I need a past. I never had a past. I never had something to remember and then I had you. And you were locked away inside me, and you were all I had. You were my past. You were memory. I want my past back, Marie. I want something to remember." 

"Then I'll give you one," she whispered raggedly, hands suddenly slipping into his, fingers entwining with his, swallowing as her burning eyes looked into his, as her body pressed against his, as her hands held his so tightly. "But you have to do something for me." 

He swallowed, wanting Marie and wanting Rogue and wanting his past so damn much, wanting to deal with the present and willing to do anything on this damned earth to attain it. "What, Marie," he rasped. "Tell me what." 

The tears slid down her face, and her answer was barely a whisper as the voice broke, "I need a future." 

A growl suddenly escaped him, his palms cradling her face, crushing his lips on hers as her hands slid around his neck, her tears moistening his own cheek as she pressed herself against him. 

His eyes were shut tight, drinking in her glorious scent as Marie, as Rogue kissed him, her tongue sliding into his mouth, wordless whimpers of submission and want and need and aching hurt slid from her lips, gliding into his. And the moist heat of her lips branded him, and his hands slid around her waist, pulling her taut body against him, branding searing kisses on her lips with his own, flipping her around and pushing her against the cage. 

His caresses were animal, hungry, needy, urgent. Her responses were almost carnal, whimpering mingling with his own whines as her hands slid in shaking tremors down his shirt, unbuttoning deftly, reaching in, sliding her bare hands over his shuddering muscles, making him groan out loud, reach out blindly to steady himself as she ran her battle toughened palms over the now bare chest, skimming underneath the flannel. 

"Logan," she whispered, her voice shaky, edged in need. "Look at me, Logan, look at me." His eyes opened to find the bright eyed woman staring up at him, in his arms, hips pressed tightly against his own, face so beautiful, lips swollen with his kisses, cheeks red with the marks of his whiskers. And her eyes were wide, bright, naked and open and so very simple and sweet. "Help me face my past, sugar, and I'll help you face the future." 

Staring down at her, his thumbs linking the bottom of her lip, feeling his groin tighten in response when her tongue gently slid out, licking the tip softly, he understood finally what the curious thump in his heart had been, why the fear had been there, why he had been so angry. 

He would get lost in her eyes. And it had felt so good when Marie had looked at him he had been scared to think what it would have felt like if Rogue had looked at him the same way. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I don't know what I'm doin' half the time, Marie. When you look at me... when you look at me... I don't want to lose you." 

"Sweetie, you won't," she whispered. "Logan, honey. You never did. I'm right here. Right inside of here," and her hand pressed over his heart, her head suddenly leaned forward, her lips pressing against the place gently. He gasped, hands sliding over the silky strands that slid down his chest, and when she slid up, he held her close, so tightly he left her breathless. 

"Dammit," he groaned. "Dammit. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I hurt you. I didn't want to say goodbye." 

Her lips pressed against his neck once, her tears sliding down, her heart beating against his own, and suddenly the clarity came with a startling realization. 

He didn't have to say goodbye. Rogue and Marie both loved him. And he loved them both. 

And he didn't just have a past then. He had a future. 

"Let me call ya Marie," he half growled. "I love you Rogue, but let me call you Marie." 

Her eyes were glittering, and their lips met again, a deep hunger not even close to being satisfied as the future began in a place where the past had started. 

And there was no end, and no beginning. 

For a single moment, Logan had managed the impossible. 

Logan and Marie had beaten time.   


~*~ 

He had been thinking in time ever since that day in Laughlin City. Ever since the day he had loved Rogue and loved Marie. 

Eight months, and he proposed. 

Four months after that, Scott had almost died. Logan had almost killed himself trying to save the leader, and when it was over, Rogue had held him so tightly his ribs almost broke. 

Two and a half months later, they had a major fight. In the aftermath of pain and hurt, he had almost slept with another woman and she had almost slept with another man. Ororo had almost smacked their heads together, and he spent that night in Rogue's bed, making up. 

Three months after that, Logan kidnapped Rogue from her bed and they got married in a little chapel in Laughlin City. 

Exactly nine months after that, baby Scott had been born. 

He sat in the chair, holding the child with the dark hair and the wide eyes, the lump in his throat never seeming to leave him as the baby held his thumb, staring up at him with wonder. 

His heart gave a curious thump, and he turned to the wife, the Rogue and the Marie, who lay sleeping in the bed beside them, body spent and tired from the ordeal that had brought their child into the world. 

The baby yawned, stretched the tiny legs and gave a small little whine, and Logan smiled. 

"God, when you smile it looks almost evil." 

She had opened her eyes, and Logan grinned, getting up carefully, placing the child in her arms. 

"One thing straight right now, Marie," he growled. "This kid isn't ever going to be called Scooter." 

She chuckled, smacking at his chest gently, as he settled in behind her, kissing the top of her shoulder and sighing. 

"What are you thinkin?" she asked him, watching as he leaned over her and traced the baby's face with one gentle finger. 

"How long 'till we start workin' on the next one," he whispered in her ear, and she laughed. 

And he smiled, leaning back, listening as his wife went on a tirade about the pains of labor. He smiled sat back, watching as Marie's animated face continued. For a second, he saw the flash of the child she had once been, saw the flash of the woman she had become, and in a brief moment, of the woman she would become. 

He would be with her then, too. When she changed. As she grew. As she matured. 

But there was no fear, because something had changed in Marie, and in him. 

They still had tired eyes, but there was hope. 

And because of that hope, he didn't leave, not because he was afraid, but because he loved her. 

Because he had all the time in the world to build his memories, and as long as he could build them with Marie, then he could face his future, just as she had learned to face her past, and he had learned to cherish, not hold on to, it. 

And the truth of it was, the future had never looked so good. 

FIN 


End file.
